


One Year

by mjhealy



Category: Jagged Little Pill - Morissette & Ballard/Morissette/Cody
Genre: F/M, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:26:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjhealy/pseuds/mjhealy
Summary: On the first anniversary of her overdose, MJ reflects on her year of recovery and how far she's come, while Steve struggles with the memories of that fateful day.
Relationships: Mary Jane "MJ" Healy/Steve Healy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	One Year

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a few days after the show's final Christmas letter scene.

MJ flips her pillow over, finding a fresh cold spot and burying her face further into it. She can hear Steve snoring softly, leaving no doubt in her mind that, unlike her, he is fast asleep. She appreciates the white noise of his breathing, though—she hates the absolute silence she’s left with sometimes when he’s stuck at work, or away, and she has to lie awake alone. At least tonight she knows he’s there.

She allows herself a glance over at the clock. 12:02am. Oh. She missed the moment, the exact start of the new day. It’s now December 18.

She’s officially one year clean.

Or maybe that’s not how the calculation works, she thinks to herself. She took her last pills - the ones that almost killed her - sometime around 4pm. So she supposes she’s still 14 hours shy of one year clean. Or maybe none of that matters because it’s just a stupid marker anyways, and it’s not like her life magically turned around and everything was suddenly fixed on December 18. It’s more the opposite. How can you celebrate the anniversary of one of the worst days of your life?

She doesn’t allow her mind to wander to that day often, the wounds always feeling shockingly fresh despite how far she’s come since then. She had a lot of milestone firsts that day, terrible ones. The first time Frankie ever told her she wasn’t her mom. The first time Steve admitted Frankie hated her (he’d surely say he didn’t mean it, but the words stung because she knew they were true, at least at that time). Her slapping Nick, the first time she’d ever laid a hand on one of her children, something she swore she’d never, ever do, a violence she didn’t even know she was capable of until it overtook her. That one haunted her maybe most of all, not only because it scared her so deeply but because it’s the last thing she can remember in complete clarity, before a haze of drugs and pain and fear and feeling Steve hold her but being unable to wake up, feeling herself slip away…

She’s not in the mood to cry, so she stops herself there, scooting a little bit closer to her husband’s warmth on the bed next to her. That woman was not the same person as she is now, she knows. And as much as the memories hurt, she can’t help but notice how far away they seem. Not that that makes them any less painful, but they do feel like a lifetime ago. If anything, she’s surprised it was only a year ago. 

What’s really on her mind is her complete lack of understanding of how to treat the upcoming day. She supposes it’s too much to hope for that everyone else has forgotten its significance, but she wonders if they’ll bring it up, or if she should, or if they’ll all just skate right by the topic. And is it weird that she kind of wants to mark the occasion?

She’ll talk to Steve in the morning, she tells herself, pulling the covers a little farther up towards her chin and taking a deep, calming breath. She can figure this all out in the morning. 

—

MJ wakes up with Steve’s 6:30 alarm, sliding out of bed in her pyjama pants and shirt. She used to make it a point to be dressed for breakfast, but that’s one of the many things in her routine that has changed in the past year, in an effort to not have such high expectations for herself. She has coffee and toast and jam ready for Steve by the time he leaves, and hands him a plate as he comes down the stairs, dressed for work.

She feels awkward as she attempts to broach the subject on her mind, trying to sound casual. 

“What does your work day look like today? Busy?”

Steve looks at her, and she desperately tries not to overthink whatever is in his eyes.

“Not especially.”

“I was thinking we could go out for dinner,” she says quickly, adding a smile at the end. “With the kids.”

“Sure, I can do that,” he smiles in return. Okay, now there’s definitely the look in his eyes, the unspoken awareness of what today means. She wonders briefly if he might say something, but instead he takes a sip of coffee, grabbing his toast off the plate and making his way towards the front door. She follows him, leaning against the wall of the vestibule as he grabs his jacket and winter gear, their usual morning routine. Once dressed, he turns back to her, placing a goodbye kiss on her lips. She holds him there, maybe a second longer than usual. 

“I’ll be home by 6, and we can go straight to dinner,” he says, breaking away. She nods.

“Have a good day, honey.”

She has fruit and toast ready for the kids when they come down, a mug of coffee for Nick, a glass of juice for Frankie, their individual preferences. She watches them each eat for a second, both scrolling through their phones, not paying attention to her.

“We’re going to go out for dinner tonight,” she says abruptly, both kids looking up at her. “Can you guys be home by 6?”

“I have-“ Frankie starts, before cutting herself off. “Never mind.”

MJ feels a pang of something in her chest. “If you have plans-“

“I don’t. Can’t wait.” 

“For sure,” Nick adds. 

And then the kids are off, and MJ is left in the silent home. That was the hardest part for her, when she first came home from rehab and after Steve went back to work, the hours of silence in the home. MJ used to love having the house to herself when the kids were younger, having the whole day to herself without anyone around her, no one to impress, no one seeing her. It was freeing, just her and her daily routine, workouts, cooking, cleaning. But when it all started, when her life began its descent towards rock bottom, the silence became deafening and the solitude overwhelming. Now, a year into recovery, she’s somewhere in between, but today the silence feels a little too loud. She just has to fill one day, she tells herself. She has to occupy herself until 6pm, and then she’ll have her family back and all will be well.

—— 

It had taken MJ months back home to become even remotely comfortable out in public spaces in town. She never knew when she might run into someone she knew, a “friend,” who would give her a condescendingly sympathetic look and a “how are you doing, honey?” that had way too much baggage attached. But after a while, things had settled down, and she seemed to have convinced her neighbours that she was not on the verge of another mental breakdown at any second.

That was before she’d sent a mass email telling everyone they were fake and had no empathy, and she hopes she won’t run into anyone at the restaurant. They had decided on a little family-style diner with sentimental value, a place she and Steve used to take the kids when they were younger. She gives a quick glance around the restaurant as she enters, her family walking in front of her, scanning for familiar faces. Seems to be clear. She follows the rest of them to their seats, just the tiniest bit on edge, wondering if there really is an elephant in the room or if she’s imagining it. Maybe the kids have forgotten (thought she doesn’t think so). 

For the umpteenth time today, she finds herself thinking about how different things were a year ago. Steve had told her the other day that she wasn’t at rock bottom anymore, and though she sometimes has a hard time convincing herself of that, she thinks back to what a challenge a dinner like this would have been a year ago. How paranoid she was in public spaces, convinced everyone could see right through her and knew she was a fraud, knew she was tainted and damaged. How she would have had to excuse herself to the bathroom at least once to calm herself down in private. How she probably would have found something to get angry about in conversation with Steve, or Frankie, and a fight would have started, and then she would have lay in bed for hours feeling worthless and mean and cruel and like a terrible mom, terrible wife… 

She quickly brings herself back to the present, where Nick is explaining one of the classes he’s taking at community college, an Intro to Poetry class he’s eager to talk about with Frankie. MJ smiles to herself, watching the two of them share a little moment. That used to be a common occurrence, but there’s been a bit of a disconnect between her two children in recent months, and she wonders if-

She suddenly realizes Steve is watching her, and she meets his eyes, giving him the tiniest of smiles. She wonders if he’s on the same trip down memory lane as she is, taking stock of where they’re at. 

A pause in conversation, and MJ finds herself speaking, stroking the back of her hands with her thumbs, a little nervous habit of hers.

“I’m guessing we all know today is…” She drifts off, not knowing exactly what to call it. She meets Frankie’s eyes, then Nick’s, thinking she sees understanding in them but not positive. “That it’s been a year.”

She feels Steve’s hand come to meet hers under the table, a gesture of support. She squeezes it back, telling him she’s okay. 

“We don’t have to get all touchy-feely,” she continues. “But I guess I just wanted to… mark the occasion.” She waits to see if anyone has anything to say, and is met with silence. “I think I want to say thank you, to all of you. You all had a lot put on you this past year, and you’ve all been so amazing, and patient, and… I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t have such a supportive family.”

“I thought you said we weren’t getting touchy-feely,” Frankie laughs.

“Hey, it’s my overdose anniversary, I think I’m allowed,” MJ cracks back. 

“So should we make a toast or something?” Nick asks.

“Please no-“ MJ whines, but Steve has already picked up his glass of coke, waiting for everyone to follow suit. MJ reluctantly picks up her water, rolling her eyes playfully.

“To rock middle.” 

—

MJ is on her way up to bed, flipping off the lights on the main floor of the house. She thinks Steve has already gone upstairs, until she sees his figure in the archway to the living room. The lights are off in there, but he stands facing in, as if surveying the room, watching for something. She waits a minute, seeing if he’ll move. He doesn’t. She comes up behind him. 

“Steve?” She whispers, feeling like she’s interrupting something. She hears him take a shaky breath, her heart stopping as she realizes he’s crying. She quickly moves around to stand in front of him, reaching around him and wrapping her arms around him, her hands rubbing circles on his back.

“Sorry,” he whispers. She can hear him choking back more tears, trying to say something.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, I know.” She suddenly realizes she’s been so focused on herself, her own feelings about this day, she hasn’t even thought about what it might bring up for Steve. He was the one who had to deal with the messy part of this day, one year ago, and had to keep everything together as it all fell apart. He rests his head on her shoulder, and she squeezes him tighter, doing her best to play the role he so often plays for her.

“You really scared me, a year ago,” he whispers, tears still evident in his voice. It clicks for her—the living room, where he found her. It’s a moment they’ve never talked about, one she has never brought up, though she has on many occasions had to force herself not to imagine the scene based on what she knew. She’s not quite sure if she actually remembers it, or if she’s just made it up in her mind. Feeling Steve hold her head in his lap, hearing him scream for Nick, feeling his hands desperately squeezing hers as he tried to get her back. She can’t imagine what that was like for him, and for Nick…

“I’m so sorry,” she answers, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s not your fault. I just…” He trails off, and she hopes he won’t say any more. She doesn’t really want to think about this moment, doesn’t want the memories to become any clearer than they already are. But he speaks again anyways, so quietly she can barely hear. “I was so sure you were dying. I was holding you, and you were so cold, and you weren't really breathing, and I just thought there was no way you were going to come back, and I would never-” 

She shushes him again, trying to stop him from getting more worked up, and also not wanting to hear any more. “Well, I’m not dead. Unfortunately you’re stuck with me a bit longer,” she whispers, and he laughs quietly, letting go of her. 

“Thank god.” He kisses her, gently, and gives her a teary smile. “I’m so proud of you, Mary Jane.”

She’s trying to keep herself together, so she says nothing, returning his smile and giving his hand a squeeze. “Let’s go to bed,” she answers instead. 

She keeps herself in check until he’s gotten into bed, changing into her PJs and waiting for him to be safely under the covers, before quietly moving towards the bathroom by herself and locking the door behind her.

The second she’s alone, the tears come. Putting all her effort into making sure she’s quiet, making sure she’s unheard, she leans against the wall as she sobs in silence, chest heaving and shoulders shaking. The image of Steve holding her body, knowing how terrified she must have made him, is far too much for her to bear. If it had been her, if she had found Steve unconscious… she’s not sure how she’d ever recover from that. She feels her heart rate quicken a little bit, and quickly tries to slow it.

Breathe in for 4. Hold for 7. Out for 8. In for 4. Hold for 7. Out for 8.

She’s okay. She looks in the mirror, her eyes bloodshot and her face red from crying, and grabs a handful of toilet paper to wipe her nose. She’s alright. Thankfully the lights are already off in the bedroom, and Steve won’t see. She thinks she was quiet enough that he won’t know about her mini-breakdown. She brushes her teeth, and then takes one final deep breath before heading back into the bedroom.

She climbs into bed, pulling the covers over herself. Her head hasn’t even hit the pillow when she feels Steve’s arms reach over and pull her into him, curling her back to match his shape. She feels safe, his body guarding hers, his arm wrapped around her stomach. She breathes deeply, closing her eyes.

“I love you so much, MJ,” he whispers into the back of her head. She feels his breath in her hair.

“I love you too.” She places her hand on his as he rests his arm around her waist. Gradually, her breathing slows to match the pace of his. She made it through the day. December 18 is wrapping up, and with it, her first official year of recovery. More than ever, she’s starting to feel like she might actually be okay.


End file.
